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“Maybe we could invite Bridget to join us tonight, discuss what she’s found,” Jo said.
For a moment, Sam hesitated. Bridget was a recovering drug addict and alcoholic. “You sure that’s a good idea, considering it’s a bar?”
“It’s her choice to make, Sam. If she’s uncomfortable, she’ll say so.”
That settled it. “All right then. We should see if Holden wants to meet up too.”
Jo glanced at the dashboard clock. “I have that meeting with my landlord at two, but I’ll call Bridget to see if she wants to come, and then she can call Holden. I’ll let you know what they said when I get back to the station. Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”
“Perfect. Then we can leave right from the station to Holy Spirits.” Sam glanced over at her. “Your landlord’s Garvin McDaniels, right?”
Jo nodded.
Sam chuckled. “Be careful with Garvin. My dad knew him, and he’s a tough customer. He’s gruff around the edges but a softy inside. Still, he won’t let that property go cheap.”
Jo smiled, finishing her coffee. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
CHAPTERTEN
Jo’s car crunched over the gravel driveway, stirring a cloud of dust as she approached Garvin McDaniels’s farmhouse. The old building stood isolated among several acres of unkempt land, its once-vibrant paint dulled and peeling, giving the structure a forlorn appearance. Weeds had claimed the garden, and the fence surrounding the property was in disrepair, with some posts leaning at odd angles.
She parked and stepped out, her gaze sweeping over the sprawling property. Despite its state of neglect, there was a sense of enduring resilience about the place. Trees dotted the landscape, a stone wall edged one side of the property, and wildflowers grew in a field.
Approaching the house, Jo’s footsteps echoed on the rickety wooden porch. She raised her hand and knocked gently on the weathered wooden door, its paint chipped and faded from years of neglect. After a moment, the door creaked open, and Garvin McDaniels appeared on the threshold. His brows knitted together as he squinted at her, taking a few seconds longer than she was comfortable with to recognize her.
“Ah, it’s you,” he finally said, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously. “Jo, right? You’re rentin’ the cottage by the creek.”
“Yes, that’s right,” she confirmed, her voice laced with polite formality.
“Something wrong with it? Plumbing’s not acting up again, is it?” His voice was tinged with concern.
“No, no, everything’s fine,” Jo assured him quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “May I come in? I wanted to discuss something about the cottage.”
At her assurance, the tension in Garvin’s face eased a fraction. “Ah, all right then. Come on in.”
She stepped inside, immediately confronted by a strange sight—stacks of empty plastic yogurt containers piled haphazardly throughout the room.
“Excuse the mess,” he grumbled, catching her gaze. “I don’t like throwin’ things away. Those containers are good for leftovers, though I don’t have much of that since Ethel passed.”
Jo nodded, her eyes darting around. The clutter and piles of unidentifiable junk gave credence to his statement—Garvin really didn’t like throwing anything away.
Garvin shuffled toward a cluttered kitchen counter, brushing aside a stack of newspapers to reveal a sleeve of crackers and a jar of peanut butter. “I’d offer you something, but this is about all I’ve got,” he said, gesturing toward the humble spread.
Jo felt a pang of concern. “You’ve got to eat more than just crackers and peanut butter, Mr. McDaniels.”
His eyes narrowed, taking on a defensive edge. “Ethel used to cook proper meals,” he said gruffly, referencing his late wife. “But now that it’s just me, why bother?”
Jo sensed she’d crossed a line and quickly tried to reroute the conversation. “I didn’t mean any offense,” she said. “Actually, you don’t have to go to any trouble. I didn’t come here for food. I came to talk about the cottage.”
Garvin’s eyes flicked up, as if caught off guard. “The cottage? What about it?”
“I’d like to buy it,” Jo said, her voice steady despite the inner churn of thoughts about Garvin’s living condition and the newly added layer of complexity about the property.
Garvin stared at her for a moment, as if processing what she’d just said. Then his eyes narrowed even more. “Well, now, that is strange.”
“Why is that?” Jo asked, leaning in, intrigued and confused.
“Because Marnie Wilson was here the other day asking about that very property,” he divulged, scratching his stubbled chin.
